


My Baby Kills

by JoyBurd



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Come Swallowing, Credence Dom, Deep Throating, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Graves Sub, Hurt/Comfort, Like the bare minimum of aftercare, M/M, Not Quite A Foot Fetish, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slight Aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9062182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyBurd/pseuds/JoyBurd
Summary: Sometimes Credence comes to him fit to kill.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The holidays make me like this. Here's hoping you're not in the same place.
> 
> Time line is assuming Graves used Credence as an informant before Grindelwald ever got to either of them. Unbeta'd.

For the most part, Credence is kind of a shrinking violet.

He cries and pulls away, makes himself small, and Graves doesn't think Credence could break the stem off a daisy most days. It's learned behavior. A way for Credence to make himself less obtrusive, less of a target. But it never works. Mary Lou hates him, and there is no small enough he can be to avoid her.

And sometimes he comes to Graves. He comes weeping and wounded, trying to close all his pain up inside him like an airtight jar. It's early in their acquaintanceship and Graves isn't sure how far he can push before he scares Credence, but he wants to touch him when Credence comes to him like this, these few precious times that become more and more frequent. Graves wants to fold him in his arms and be something strong for him, shield him from what scares and harms him with nothing but the skin of his back if he has to. He gives Credence his address not a week after meeting him. Sick at the thought of Credence crying in any grimy New York alley he can find, Graves tells him he's welcome. Any time.

But sometimes, other times, Credence comes to him fit to kill, a heat in his eyes and some type of violence in the curve of his body that almost scares Graves. And he knows with upmost certainty that Credence doesn't need his protection, not really. Credence needs something else.

Grindelwald, for his part, only enjoys it, when he steals Graves' identity not a month later. When Credence comes to him in this angry way, he takes it, takes everything Credence can give until Credence forgets. Credence just thinks it's Graves warming up to him. Learning to love him, maybe, he hopes, somewhere deep in his blistering little heart.

But Graves never understands it. He reasons it out within himself when he can, this ferocity Credence fosters. He knows something holds Credence back, most days, keeps the violence and anger shuttered inside him. But other days the whole structure collapses, and Credence's anger rushes out from him, even as he tries to pull it back. And Graves supposes he's strong enough to be a good, solid thing for Credence to crash against. He supposes he can take it, as long as Credence needs him to. The first time Credence comes to him angry, before Grindelwald, before everything, he shows up shivering on Graves' doorstep. Graves is all concern until he looks at Credence, really looks. He's not shivering, it's nothing to do with the freezing rain. Credence is shaking, vibrating, giving off a hot kind of anger. His eyes are narrowed and black and Graves almost feels like he's been stabbed when Credence's eyes rest on him.

"Credence?" Graves says cautiously, even as he stands to the side to let Credence into his home.

This was a little after Tina's suspension, at a point when the New Salemers were treacherous enough Graves had thought having an inside source might be a good idea. But he's never seen Credence like this.

Credence shakes in the hallway, dripping, and for a moment Graves just stares at him.

"Can I have a towel?" Credence snaps.

Graves nods, spurred into movement. "Of course, of course. Please," he gestures into the sitting room and Credence goes, plopping into a chair with no regard for Graves' upholstery.

When Graves enters the sitting room with a forrest green towel from his bathroom, he nearly drops it at the sight of Credence's bare back. His shirt and coat are wet lumps forming puddles on the floor, and Credence's back is criss-crossed with massive red welts, no pattern or reason to them, bleeding and bruising purple at the edges, Graves assumes, from the sting of the metal buckle of Credence's belt. Mary Lou is crueler than usual, sometimes, and she will use the hole-punched side of the belt as a handle instead of the buckle, letting the sharp metal do what damage it will. Graves has seen it before, in a swollen eye socket or a broken thumb. He pulls in a harsh breath, and the line of Credence's shoulders tightens, tenses with the knowledge of Graves' unconscious sympathy. Credence is staring into the fireplace. Graves approaches him from the side, and he can see that Credence's eyes are red: he's clearly crying, but it's eerily silent, like he doesn't even notice the physical discomfort or the tears. His shoulders don't move with sobs, the tears just roll down his cheeks. Graves wants to wipe them away but he's almost afraid to touch Credence: he feels like he might get burned just from the contact of his skin when he's like this.

"Credence," Graves says, all concern. He reaches for Credence, he can't help it, despite his concerns, but when his fingers touch the skin of Credence's shoulder he draws away, shrugging Graves' hand off.

"Don't," Credence says. "I want to feel what she did to me."

Graves doesn't understand but he nods, wanting to give Credence what he needs. Anything he needs.

"I fought her," Credence says, but Graves suddenly has the sense Credence isn't really talking to him. "It's always worse when I fight back. I just thought that-I thought that maybe if I just-" Credence is breathing fast, his lungs heaving too hard to speak through. Graves doesn't know what to do so he just stands there, watching, listening. And even though it's just the two of them, he had the strangest sense that he's eavesdropping, witnessing something he isn't meant o be a part of.

Credence stares very hard into the fire in the hearth, trying to calm down, get his breathing under control. "Every now and again I think that maybe it's me. Maybe if I just stand my ground, we could live a normal way, like real families do." Credence smiles grimly to himself, and the look in his eyes sends a chill down Graves' spine. "I want to kill her."

"Credence," Graves says, and he can't keep the concern out of his voice.

Credence glances at him and snatches the towel from his hands. He rubs at his hair a bit and drapes it around his shoulders. Graves doesn't miss his wince at the sting of even the soft towel on the welts.

"Thanks," Credence says, but the word feels like it's been pried out of him. "Thank you."

"Of course," Graves says. "Would you like some tea? I was just going to put on a kettle."

Credence shakes his head. "Something stronger."

Graves laughs shortly. "You know very well I don't have any alcohol. I'm a legal official."

But Credence is reaching for him, his whole body moving towards Graves, and he's digging his fingers into Graves' shoulder so hard Graves can't keep a wince off his face. "That's not what I mean."

Credence isn't a physically weak person by a mile, and Graves already knew that. But he still wasn't ready, wasn't ready to fight him when Credence wrapped his fingers around the back of his neck and pulled Graves down. He resists, but it's not with enough force, and before he can summon enough strength to pull back Credence's mouth is full and hot on his, open and searching. Graves tugs himself back but Credence just follows, pulling harder, standing on his toes to reach.

"Credence," Graves says into his lips, but opening his mouth is a mistake because Credence just takes it, his tongue reaching clumsy and deep, licking at Graves' teeth, brushing his tongue with his own. And he's hot, iron in the fire hot. Like a brand.

Graves draws all the way up to his full height and Credence can't reach the inside of his mouth anymore so he bites, pulls on Graves' bottom lip so hard Graves groans. When Credence releases him, Graves tastes blood. Then he sees it, in the corner of Credence's mouth. Credence's fingers are still digging into his shoulder, and Credence wipes a wrist across his own lips, glancing away from Graves for just a second to admire the blood and spit on the back of his hand.

"Sit down," Credence says, and Graves has never heard him so solid, so sure of anything. Graves' knees almost buckle, his body wanting to comply.

"Credence, what are-"

" _Sit_ ," Credence says, pulling Graves' shoulder. And he just goes, crumbling to the floor like he's made of paper.

"No," Credence says, shoving Graves' shoulder back even as he steps closer and tangles his fingers into Graves' hair. It's loose now, the gel losing it's hold, and Graves can feel Credence's fingers carding through his hair, almost tender despite the look still in Credence's eyes. The fire light heightens it, makes Credence look even more furious, like a god--young and angry, full lips moving with his own clenching jaw. And Graves feels fear, real and familiar, stir in his gut.

"The chair," Credence says. But he's pulling Graves' head close to him, and Graves' cheek brushes a hip bone, prominent even through Credence's rough trousers.

And Graves shouldn't. He's at least twenty years Credence's senior. He needs Credence to trust him, keep informing him about the New Salemers and their movements, and he can't be sure this will help him in that regard. He can be sure of so little when it comes to Credence.

But he can't help it, not for the first few moments. It's like instinct, to part his lips and mouth at Credence, semi-hard through the fastening of his trousers. Credence groans, and when Graves looks up toward his face he looks just a little bit gone, some of the harsh lines in his face softening, his mouth loose and open, shining in the flickering light. His eyelashes catch and reflect the flames, just a little, his black hair hanging down low over his eyes, curling as it dries. Graves notes that Credence's usual belt is nowhere to be seen.

"Suck it," Credence says.

And Graves smirks, just a little. "Do you want me to sit in the chair or suck your cock, Credence?"

Credence tugs his head, hard, thrusting into the tight space between them. "Take it," Credence says.

Graves reaches for Credence's trousers but Credence shakes him, pulling hard at the roots of his hair so his head tilts back, throat open and exposed.

"No hands," Credence says, and Graves drops them, clasps them behind himself. "Just your mouth."

Maybe it's something about the tone of Credence's voice, maybe it's that no one treats him like this--not him, the head of the MCUSA Department of Magical Law Enforcement. But any thought of stopping this is gone. He wouldn't even know how. And Graves likes a challenge.

He lips at the button, mouthing at the fabric until the fastening is slick and slides right through. It takes him a minute, and a few shoots of slight panic, edged on by Credence's tugs at the roots of his hair, but he keeps the zip between his teeth and pulls. It slips out, once, and he tongues the zipper back into place so he can hook his teeth in again.

When it slips out from between his teeth a second time, Credence pulls his head forward hard, and Graves can feel how stiff he is, can smell him even, pressed so close he's breathing into Credence's smallclothes.

"Try harder," Credence says, finally releasing him enough that Graves can pull his zip the rest of the way down.

He lips and mouths at the hem of Credence's small clothes before he gets it in between his teeth. He should have pulled Credence's trousers down first but he's moving too fast, he can't think. He's pulling with his jaw aching, trying to get both the smallclothes and trousers down in one go when Credence huffs, a short, frustrated noise.

"Stop. Sit back," Credence says. And Graves does, kneeling, his hands still behind his back. He's still in his work trousers and he can feel the seams digging into his thighs. They weren't made to accommodate this position. And he worries distantly about them ripping until Credence pulls his cock out of his trousers and gets Graves' hair in his fingers again.

Credence drags the tip of his cock along Graves' cheek, and Graves can feel the smear of liquid left behind. When the tip touches the edge of his Graves' lip, he opens his mouth, leaning to nip at him until Credence jerks him back, pulling his hair so this throat is open and exposed again. And Graves loves how that feels a little too much, the thrill of it rolling up and down his spine in short waves.

"Not until I say," Credence says. He starts moving again, pulling Graves' face along the side of his cock until Graves' nose is buried in the base, his lips so close to his balls Graves wouldn't have to do anything but open his mouth and they'd be practically down his throat. "You don't move unless I move you."

He shakes Graves and his face moves against Credence's warm skin, Graves' eyes closing. "Understand?"

"Yes," Graves says, his voice muffled, lips dragging against Credence's skin.

Credence pulls him so his mouth drags slowly all the way up Credence's cock, and Graves can feel the vein pulsing in time with Credence's heart beat--fast but steady. Graves almost groans when Credence places him at the tip of his cock, his lips smearing with precum.

"Open," Credence says, and he does.

Credence pulls him forward and at this point Graves isn't sure why he expects him to stop but he doesn't until his cock is hitting the back of Graves' throat. He's not even all the way down, Graves can see that, but Graves hasn't relaxed his throat and he can't use his hands and he can't suck him any deeper, not yet.

"I told you to take it," he says, pulling Graves off. A line of spit connects his mouth with Credence's cock and Graves' pants, licking his lips and trying to generate the most obscene amount of saliva he can, until he's almost drooling.

"Try again," Credence says, pulling him forward. And this time Graves relaxes, lets himself be pulled until his nose is pressed back against Credence's stomach. He resists the urge to heave, and he's distantly glad he hasn't eaten dinner yet.

"Fuck," Credence says, and it occurs to Graves to wonder where Credence got this, this idea, this steady fury, this strength to pull Graves to his knees and keep him there. Graves wonders when he himself became so easily malleable.

"I'm going to fuck your throat, Mr. Graves," Credence says, and that's all the warning Graves gets before Credence is pulling him, the tip of his cock just reaching the edges of Graves' lips before he's being shoved back down. Credence jerks him so hard and fast his head hurts, but he focuses, stays relaxed. He stops thinking about how he ended up here and concentrates on Credence: Credence down his throat, Credence's fingers in his hair, distracting himself from his gag reflex.

Credence starts groaning, short little moans in his throat in time with his thrusts into Graves' mouth, and Graves looks up at him, wanting to see his face when he's angry, controlling Graves like this. Wanting to see him when he comes.

There's a shock that travels all the way through Graves' body when he looks up and sees Credence staring down at him, and Credence's thrusts become short, faster. He's not pulling all the way out anymore, just grinding the tip of his cock into the back of Graves' throat and he knows Credence must be so close.

Credence comes on an out-thrust, and Graves' cheeks fill with come. He chokes on it, gagging and coughing around Credence's cock until he pulls fully out of Graves' mouth, and it rushes out over his lips.

Credence moves fast, and Graves is a little impressed. He himself is never this alert in his own post-orgasm afterglows. He's practically useless after he comes. But not Credence. Credence reaches one of his hands forward, palm over Graves' mouth, fingers smearing the come down over Graves' chin. The fingers of the other hand grip Graves' nose, and Graves realizes with a shock that he can't breathe.

He forgets, in his panic, about keeping his hands still and he reaches up, fingers closing around Credence's wrists, trying to pull him off. But Credence is strong, even now, and he can't manage it.

"Swallow," Credence says shortly, and Graves doesn't even think, doesn't hesitate. He's desperate.

Credence watches him, clinically. The anger is gone from his face and his body and there's nothing now, just empty black eyes. Those eyes flick down to Graves' throat, and when he sees Graves swallow Credence removes his hand, but keeps the other over his nose.

"Show me," he says. And Graves' gasps his mouth open, panting, feeling his own hot breath against his wet lips.

"Good," Credence says shortly. He releases his nose and Graves breathes, his head falling forward to rest on Credence's hip again. He's reaching for Credence's hands, gripping at him like a lifeline. "That's good," Credence says, and Graves feels his fingers in his hair again. But he still wraps his hand around both of Credence's wrists. After what just happened, he wants to know where Credence's hands are, just wants to be sure.

Graves doesn't even realize his eyes are closed until he opens them. From this angle, head toward the ground, he can see how hard he is, pressing almost painfully against his already tight trousers. He's so fucking hard, he can already feel how much it's going to hurt to get his trousers off.

"Are you hard? From that?" Credence says, and Graves feels a little dread, a little excitement. He sees Credence toe off one of his loafers, revealing a rough, grey wool sock. Credence reaches forward with his foot, balancing himself by pulling on Graves' hair.

Graves tries to say yes but his throat is raw with use, and all the air punches out of him when Credence's toes press against his cock. His hips stutter forward and he groans, loud and high, almost like a keen.

"Mr. Graves," Credence says, slow, and his toes rub hard against Graves' cock. "Do you want to come?"

Graves can't form words so he nods, the top of his head rubbing Credence's hip.

"I need to hear you say it," Credence says, and Graves thinks that's considerate of him until it occurs to him Credence just _wants_ it.

Graves starts the word, moving his mouth around the one syllable until his vocal chords catch up.

"Yes," he says. "Yes, yes, yes, yes-Ah!"

The last "yes" catches in his throat when Credence presses into him hard, his toes splitting over Graves' cock, straining against the seams of his trousers.

"You'll have to work for it," Credence says. He shifts a little, regaining his balance, but his foot doesn't press any harder against Graves, doesn't move anywhere.

Graves is confused, his brain muddy with heat and need. But when Credence doesn't move, he does, driven by instinct. He pulls his hips back and presses forward, thrusting against Credence's foot.

There's a rip, and Graves knows it must be the inner seam of his trousers giving out because suddenly there's cooler air against his thigh. He releases one of Credence's wrists and wraps his fingers around the back of Credence's narrow thigh, his hands almost wrapping halfway around. Graves groans into Credence's hip, noticing it's bare for the first time, Credence's cock limp and still wet with his own spit, brushing against Graves' shirt.

Credence moves a little, like he's lost his balance, and Graves grips at him, keeping him standing by sheer force. Credence's fingers scramble at Graves' shoulders, and with the sharp digging of Credence's nails, even through the fabric of his shirt, Graves comes, hot and wet into his own torn trousers.

Credence chooses that moment to move his foot, just shifting it slightly, never fully releasing the pressure, and Graves makes all sorts of sounds he'd be ashamed of any other time as Credence works him through his orgasm until he's oversensitive. And he just keeps rubbing him, keeps pulling sounds out of Graves that he doesn't think he's ever made before in his life.

"Good. That's good," Credence is saying. Graves can feel Credence's fingers still digging into his shoulders, keeping them both steady. He lifts one of his hands to card his fingers through Graves' hair, and Graves leans into the touch, wanting it, needing it, almost, but unable to think why that would be. "Thank you, Mr. Graves."

"Of course," Graves tries to say. It croaks out of him, harsh. He clears his throat, but his voice still rasps. "Of course, Credence. Of course."

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this when I was like, whoo, super angry. And then I stopped before I got to the Good Stuff TM and ended up writing that when I was less angry so the porn isn't exactly what I planned but when is it ever, tbh.
> 
> Took some liberties with 1920s trouser styles.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at thunderybird.tumblr.com. Still kind of setting up so there isn't much there. I follow the shit out of Gradence blogs, tho.
> 
> As always, it's open season on grammatical/spelling errors. Please please please let me know in the comments if you spot them.


End file.
